Friends and Lovers (28 page)

“I’m here, Debra. It’s okay.”

“I’m so scared, Tyrel. I don’t believe this shit is happening to us.” The phone rang. “Damn reporters keep calling back to back. Those insensitive bastards were here with microphones stuck in my face before the sun came up.”

“Shh. It’ll be all right.”

Debra wiped her eyes; made circular scratches on her stomach.

The phone rang again.

I said, “I’ll get it. Sit down. Rest.”

Debra shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair, took her time about walking into the sunken den. I watched her reflection in the black glass on the refrigerator door until she went to the far side by the fireplace. She was telling the same story she’d have to tell over and over as she headed toward the back of the house. I heard her say something about head and chest injuries, died at the scene wearing a seat belt.

My friend who had this nice house had died on oil-stained pavement.

The doorbell rang two times. I went to the front to handle it. It was another delivery of flowers. I put them with the rest and went back to the kitchen.

A few seconds later, she drifted back into the kitchen, cordless phone in hand, and stood by the cooking island. She put the phone down and pulled out a chair on my right side. She was calm. I was drinking a glass of grape juice.

She said, “Where’s your stuff?”

“I checked into the Red Lion.”

“
No.
You’re not staying at a stupid-ass hotel. Go get your clothes and get back here before you piss me off. Pick a bedroom and stay as long as you want. This is your home too.” Debra let out a wounded sound that stopped as fast as it started. “And I can’t stand to be here by myself. I need to be surrounded by my friends.”

“What about your family?”

“You’re family too. They’ll be here day after tomorrow.”

I said, “Okay.”

“Just want to see my close friends. Leonard’s best friends.”

I gave Debra another long hug, rocked from side to side, tried to absorb her hurt. Her body trembled along with mine.

She pulled back and looked at me. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too.” I kissed her forehead.

“Leonard loved you so much. Talked about you all
the time. Said you guys were blood brothers with different parents. I always wished you hadn’t moved so far away.”

I never liked the Bay. Not because the Bay was the Bay, but because it wasn’t L.A. If I had stayed in Los Angeles, had never moved, this wouldn’t have happened.

She picked up her cordless phone and walked me to my car.

Debra said. “Shelby should be here tomorrow.”

“Ouch! Richard, no.
Stop.
No, that hurts.
I said stop.
“

“Why can’t I suck on your neck?”

“Quit!”

“What is up, Shelby?”

“You’ve never sucked on my neck, why now?”

“Because I want to make you feel good.”

“Gnawing on my damn neck don’t feel good.”

“We’re getting married and you’re my woman, right? I should be able to suck on your neck if I want to, right?”

“You’re trying to put a damn passion mark on my neck.
Stop.
Move! Richard”—I tried to twist my wrists out of his hands—“get the hell off of me. All right? I’m serious. Move,
dammit.
“

He wouldn’t let go. I tried to buck him off me; his weight had me pinned down. He was trying to sneak himself inside me.

“Stop, please. Get off me. Richard, you’re raping me.”

“What? I’m not and you know it.”

I knew why he was tripping out and trying to chew marks high on my neck. It didn’t take but a tick of the clock for his attitude to change when I told him about what happened to Leonard.

“Dammit! Get the fuck off me.”

“What’s the problem?”

“You’ve got the
damn
problem. You know I can’t go to work with that shit all over my damn neck. You know it. Now wove!”

“But you’re not going to work.”

“I’m not gonna walk around L.A. looking like a ho. Get up.”

“I’m not through.”

“I’m
through! Now, get off of me, Richard.
“ Yelling wasn’t working, so I went the other way. I said, “Please, stop.” Okay, being nice and
asking
wasn’t working, so I went back to yelling. “
Bastard, get off me.
“

Richard’s face cringed like he couldn’t believe me. It wasn’t like I was hiding my feelings. Right about now my glower was the definition of disdain and eyes felt hot enough to glow and let him see me through the darkness. He had a nervous tremble when he eased his grip. I scowled and waited. Didn’t blink one time. He tilted his head like that confused RCA Victor dog.

Richard exhaled and said something that sounded like it might’ve been an apology, then scooted to the far side of my bed. Damn, I hate this sorry-ass waterbed. Anyway, I was relieved, sad, mad as hell, but not as pissed off as I wanted to be.

We’d been tussling like we were the opening match for Hulk Hogan for about five minutes. My back ached like a big dog because I had bucked my hips too hard and too fast. Sweat had dampened both my down pillows and humidified my earth-tone sheets. My red and gold comforter had been kicked off the bed.

My waterbed surged when he jumped up. For a sec, I thought the wave was gonna toss me overboard and make me land on the oak nightstand. Richard’s feet slapped the floor when he marched across the room, sounded like the soles of his feet and the tips of his toes were sweating and sticking to the hardwood.

Six a.m. and I was marinating in puddles of my own sweat. Then the bedroom door slammed so hard it sounded like a gunshot. I tried to play it off, but I still
twitched and squeezed my eyes. My jewelry box rattled. Photos on the dresser danced.

My compact kitchen was a few feet away, but I heard my glasses clinking. Time and time again, I’ve asked him to be careful and not bump my damn glasses. Last week, I’d found two chipped, which messed up the entire set I’d bought from
IKEA
. I’d gone out of my way and left paper cups in plain view, right on top of the marble counter.

When he came back into the bedroom, I slit my eyes enough to peep out. The room was dim, the venetian blinds were closed, but it wasn’t all the way dark because the hall light was shining down.

First Richard ran his fingers through his beard, then stooped close enough for me to smell the Merlot fermenting his breath. He whispered my name. Said it real sweet. Get real. His knees popped when he stood up and walked away, rubbing his face and gaping back like he was trying to figure out what to do or say, like he still didn’t know what he’d done to piss me off.

Coins in his pants jingled that irritating song when he pulled his jeans up over his thighs. His belt buckle clanged. He was making noise after noise. When it got quiet, I rolled over to see what was going on behind my back. Richard had leaned against my dresser with his fists pressed hard against the wood.

He saw my expression, rubbed his neck, lowered his head, then put his eyes into the oval mirror and watched my reflection.

Richard said, “I’m sorry. Maybe we had too much to drink.”

We?
Somehow, I don’t think so. I turned away. He zipped his pants, grabbed his shirt, and a beat later the door slammed. My jewelry box rattled again. The pictures of me and Debra, the photo of my momma, and the one of me in my blue and gray uniform, wobbled. Richard’s photo didn’t move.

Richard’s voice came through my door, “I’ll try to be back in time for your flight. I want to see you off. Okay?”

I didn’t breathe until his car started and pulled away from the visitors’ parking under my window. Another one of my senses defrosted and I smelled his liquor and cologne.

The day didn’t start off like this. Hell, the year didn’t start off like this. In the early part of yesterday evening we’d talked. I’d just made it in from work, got the message about Leonard, called Richard, he picked me up, and took me to eat.

Damn, I shouldn’t have called him. But you’re hurting and baffled and your emotions are shooting every whichaway, you have to pick up the phone and vent to somebody. And in San Diego my friends were few and my options were thin. Chiquita was all I had, which wasn’t much, and she was on a two-day trip and unavailable for hand-holding conversation over a box of Kleenex.

What had pissed me off was that after I told Richard that Leonard had been killed and I wanted to leave to be with Debra, all he wanted to know was if Tyrel was gonna be there.

He never asked how Debra was doing. Now he didn’t know Debra or Leonard, because that was the way I wanted it. But he knew I knew Leonard. I’d played enough of his comedy tapes and bragged on his movies enough for everybody in a two-hundred-mile radius to think they knew him like a brother. To me it shouldn’t matter that Richard hadn’t met my best friend or her husband. They were my friends, and that’s all that should’ve mattered to him.

Before I knew it, I was saying, “I don’t know. I didn’t ask about Tyrel. He should be there.”

“I see.”

“Richard, it’s a funeral, not a date. All right?”

I swapped soggy linen for fresh sheets, then showered a long time with the water hotter than usual. This couldn’t be real.

When Debra had called, I almost grabbed my tissue, hopped in my car, and drove up the 5 freeway right then, but she didn’t want me on the road while I was as upset as I was. Guess I was a bit on the hysterical side.
I’d never had a friend die before. A few people in high school had clocked out, but they’d been living in the fast lane.

Anyway, Debra calmed me down, made me put my keys back in my purse, told me one tragedy was enough, then asked me to get a grip and stop being impulsive and irrational. Debra wanted me to come tomorrow because she wanted time to settle herself. Somebody from her family was going to be there with her, so she was fine.

That was just like her. But I’d be there today whether she loved me or not. I understand how she felt because I was the same way when I had to bury my momma. And this brought all of that back. That sense of loss that I’d experienced two times too many already. Debra needs me. I’m gonna be there from beginning to end, from January to December. And the sooner I leave here, the less attitude I’ll carry into the altitudes.

After Debra told me what had happened, we cried and tried to make sense of it all. Right before she hung up, Debra told me, “Tyrel is flying down tomorrow.”

My throat tightened. Felt like somebody snatched a rug from under my feet and time shifted. He’d been out of sight, out of mind, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the brother looked like now. Wondered if he still had that boyish face and soft laugh.
Shelby’s Cavern.
Bowlegs and dimples. Perfect imperfections. I have to admit that all of his tokens of affection meant more after we broke up—the African dolls, the notes had more value when they stopped coming.

Richard wanted me to trash and burn everything that Tyrel had given me. He said he’d dumped all of his, bought kerosene and a book of matches, and put a flame to his old flames.

I had gathered my pictures, my eight Dan L. Steel T-shirts, the boxer shorts from Tyrel, the cards, the African dolls, and headed for the big green Dumpster around back. But I changed my mind. Somebody was tripping and I was following their program. These were my
memories. I put
my
memories in the back of
my
closet, stored the rest in a corner in the back of my mind.

It felt kinda creepy that I’ll have to cross paths with Tyrel the Tyrant. Regardless of how fucked up his attitude is, or mine, I’ll chew my lip and be cordial. For Debra’s sake. For Leonard’s sake. I’ll keep my distance and try to curl my lips inward. But I know how overreactive I am when I get pissed off.

After all of this is over, I’ll tell Debra I’ve been engaged a couple of months. As far as she knew, I hadn’t had a decent date since I moved. Every time I went up there, the engagement ring came off on the plane. She’d only been down here twice; both times Richard was out of town. I’d planned it that way.

Richard is a businessman who takes care of his family. That’s rare. A brother who takes care of his momma, puts his siblings through college, and comes out ahead in the game of economics. I should be happy for myself. Hell, I am. He’s the kind of brother that sisters dream of getting their Lee Press-on Nails into day in and day out. He’s my husband-to-be. Now I don’t have to worry about any more fingerprints getting on my window. I can jump the broom, grab a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels, and wipe the stains away. Scrub my window clean.

I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t call Tyrel. His number was on Debra’s refrigerator, so I copied it. Some bitch answered his number when I called at two a.m. End of story. Life goes on.

It’ll take a little longer, but I’ll open my heart, take down my wall and love Richard the way I deserve to be loved.

But right now, love don’t live here anymore.

I went to the medicine cabinet and stood close to the mirror. Sighed so hard I sounded like something off of
Wild Kingdom.

Looked like somebody had been munching on the chocolate. My dark skin couldn’t hide the bruises. I forgot about the towel I was holding up in front of my naked body; it slipped and dropped on my feet. I moved
back to see how far I had to go before the hideous bites weren’t so noticeable. When my back bumped into the wall, the three bruises were humming, pouting up on my neck.

I cursed like I’d
never
cursed before, held my breasts and bumbled and stumbled into the bedroom, spread out newspapers and dumped the contents of my makeup box on the floor and tried to find a shade to camouflage my jacked-up neck. What didn’t match was flung to the side.

Then I glanced up and saw me looking at me. My expression was so innocent, it scared me. For a moment I was a child.

It felt like I’d never seen me before in my life.

I didn’t know who I was.

I said forget the dumb stuff. All I had to do was dress in something that accentuated my figure and covered my neck. Make ‘em watch the butt when I strutted my stuff. Use one personal asset to drag attention away from the other.